


A Crow's New Feathers

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Jonmund Week 2020 [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Jonmund Week 2020, M/M, Post-Canon, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: There was very little that would bring Jon below the Wall, meeting his new niece or nephew was certainly one of those things. If only such a meeting did not have his sister demanding he wear new clothes.Written for Day 5 of Jonmund Week 2020: Fashion
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Jonmund Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673965
Comments: 5
Kudos: 149





	A Crow's New Feathers

There was very little that would give Jon reason to travel below the Wall again, but greeting his new niece of nephew was definitely one of those things. When the raven had arrived, one almost certainly directed by Bran, the official invitation had technically been for Tormund, as a leader of the Free Folk, but both his sisters had scrawled a note on the back, telling him they expected to see him as well.

There was definitely a bonus, having his sister be Queen in the North, for she had pardoned him officially even before he had reached the Wall. He had chosen to go with Tormund though, chosen to stay away from Sansa’s court and the lords that would try and use him to undermine her new rule.

It was nice to be back in Winterfell though; Jon would quite happily admit it. Back in the walls that had been his home for so long, the walls that had belonged to his family for eight thousand years and would hopefully for another eight.

Sansa had been the one to greet him at the gates, and had shown he and Tormund to the room that had been his when he was King, that had been Robb’s when they were growing up. She had kept it set up as it had been when he had left, something that had almost made him choke up with tears at the thought his sister had ensured he would always have a place at home.

It had been enough that Sansa had not even bothered to pretend to give Tormund his own room, had merely shown him to Jon’s with a knowing smirk on her face.

Sometimes Jon truly did wonder why he missed his little siblings when they were parted.

Especially when Sansa had informed him that the clothes he was wearing were in no way appropriate for representing the Free Folk or their family, and that she would be sending someone up with new ones for him.

Personally Jon did not think Arya would care what he was wearing, but he knew better than to argue with Sansa on matters of propriety.

It had never ended well for him, or anyone else for that matter.

* * *

Tormund stopped dead upon entering the room he and Jon had been shown to. He had only left to check that his people had settled in well and ensure they knew how to behave within the castle walls, but it was long enough for Jon to have transformed completely.

No longer was his crow wearing the heavy white furs of the Free Folk, no longer did he look a Wildling, no now he appeared a lord, primped and proper in slate grey and the pale grey of the sky at dawn.

“Sansa made me these, said that I should look presentable for the celebrations.” Jon tugged on the tunic and looked slightly uncomfortable.

Tormund swallowed heavily once more and stepped forwards so he could place his hands on the soft fabric. It was silky beneath his palms, and he could feel the warmth of Jon’s skin through it.

“You don’t look ‘presentable’, Little Crow,” He growled and tightened his grip, “You look positively indecent.”

He could feel how Jon stiffened at his words, and grinned to see the way that Jon’s pupils had blown. He did like the way that the clothes framed Jon, instead of hiding him as the heavy furs they wore in the True North did.

“You- you really think so?” Jon asked breathlessly, and Tormund could not help himself from tugging him closer.

“If I did not think yer sister would kill us for it, I would show you just how much I think so this minute.” Tormund growled honestly. He lowered his voice so it was more a croon than anything, “I would sling you over my shoulder as though you truly were a pretty lordling, and then I would remove those pretty clothes of yers and take my time mapping out yer body.”

Jon shivered, and his pupils had blown so wide there was not even a sliver of grey to be seen around them. He licked his lips and peered up at Tormund.

“Per- Perhaps we could try that afterwards?” Jon’s voice was hoarse and Tormund inwardly preened at the thought he was the one to inspire such a thing.

He smirked in response, and enjoyed the way it made Jon shiver again.

* * *

If someone had told Jon before their father’s death that Arya would be the first of them to have a child, he would have laughed so hard he would have broken a rib. It would have seemed absurd, that his boyish sister would be the first to have a child when being a mother had always been one of Sansa’s dreams. And yet, the child was undeniably Arya’s.

Arya was propped up in bed in what had once been Lady Catelyn’s chamber, the warmest room in Winterfell, with a tiny babe in her arms. Her face lit up when she saw him, and she gestured for him to come and sit by the bed.

“Jon, I would like you to meet Eddara Stark, Eddara, this is your Uncle Jon.”

She held out the babe and Jon took her into his arms with all the gentleness he could muster. His niece was perfect, she really was, her hair darker than Arya’s but her eyes were the same shade of grey.

“She’s perfect.” He breathed, “Arya, she’s absolutely perfect.”

His baby sister grinned at him, “Aye, she is. Her father tells her so every day.”

Jon raised his gaze from his niece to meet her eyes, “And where is Gendry? I am surprised to not see him by your side.”

Arya’s grin gained a decidedly cheeky tint. “He was a little fearful that you would take offense at the thought I had been dishonoured by him. I informed him otherwise, especially as Eddara was not even an hour old before Sansa had legitimised her as a Stark, but it did not stop his worrying.”

“He should be more worried about Sansa than me.”

“I told him that but he did not listen. I love the man, but quite honestly he is an idiot.” Arya saild with a roll of her eyes before holding out her arms for her daughter.

Jon gave her back Eddara with a sense of loss as the warm bundle left his arms.

“Oh don’t look so broody.” Arya scolded him, sounding rather like her lady mother, “You can hold her again at the feast. The feast which I’m assuming is your reason for wearing clothes that actually befit someone of your station.”

Jon scowled at her, “I am not broody. And Sansa informed me that if I did not wear her gift then there would be unspecified consequences.”

He did not mind that Arya laughed at him, although the length of it was a little demeaning.

* * *

The more Tormund saw Jon in the clothes his sister had made him wear, the more he decided he liked them. He could not tear his eyes from the man he loved during the speeches the Queen made, welcoming them all to Winterfell and announcing the birth of the new princess.

He made a note to ensure they were packed when they left the castle once more, as impractical as they might be for day to day use in the True North, they were far too pretty, and tempting, to just leave behind.

He did wonder sometimes, whether Jon regretted travelling North with him, whether he regretted leaving his family and the position he had held behind; but to see him look so uncomfortable surrounding by fawning lords and ladies soothed something in Tormund’s heart. His crow would never thrive among the Southerners, not in the way his sister did, and he never looked so uncomfortable in the True North among the Free Folk.

One of the lords, one that even Tormund recognised, approached Jon with an expression of great determination, and Tormund just knew that whatever he wished to speak of would be something that Jon would hate. He pushed his way through the crowds to rescue his crow, treating the oncoming lord as seriously as he would a white walker for the lord was sure to ruin Jon’s happiness.

Tormund wrapped a possessive arm around Jon’s waist, and took a moment to savour the feel of the soft fabric covering hard muscles beneath his arm, and bent down to whisper in his ear.

“How long do we have to remain to be polite?”

Jon shot him a wry look and flicked his eyes to his sisters, as though wondering the same thing. Tormund could not hide his amusement when Sansa raised her glass knowingly and Arya actually made a shooing motion at them both. Clearly neither he nor Jon were subtle enough to hide things from them.

“It seems we can go now.” Jon whispered back, and allowed himself to be steered from the room by Tormund.

The cooler air of the corridor was certainly a relief, as was the privacy afforded to them by the lack of lords and ladies seeking to converse with either of them. The memory of his earlier words hit Tormund and he realised this was his opportunity.

He slung Jon over his shoulder and grinned, he was certainly going to be having fun that evening.


End file.
